


Reflections

by aesopianalex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Harry/Sirius bonding, MWPP, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesopianalex/pseuds/aesopianalex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After making a surprise visit to the Dursleys the summer before fifth year, Sirius takes a bruised Harry back to Grimmauld Place. Finding Harry reluctant to talk about his life at home, Sirius starts telling him about his own family. Partly MWPP, partly present day. Sirius/Harry bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sirius' paws thumped satisfyingly on the pavement. It was a sleepy summer night, and he'd found slipping into the neighborhood of Little Whinging fairly easy; he'd apparated outside the wards of Grimmauld Place, then transformed into the shaggy black dog as soon as he'd landed in the little alley he remembered from his previous trip here before Harry's third year. Dumbledore didn't exactly know he'd left, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Mundungus had dropped by the house earlier. Sirius had nearly gone mad already, sitting in that dark dusty house day after day. So when Dung had told him that he needed someone to cover watching Harry while he looked into some stolen broomsticks, Sirius had jumped at the chance. Dung didn't care that he wasn't allowed out of the house, had grinned and thanked Sirius before scurrying off to wherever the stolen brooms were.

Sirius thought he'd pop in and catch up to Harry, and maybe give those muggles he had to live with a scare while he was at it. He'd felt guilty about the fact that his godson was stuck here, that Sirius himself couldn't tell him anything in his letters. He'd fought with Dumbledore about it, but every time he brought it up Dumbledore assured him, firmly, that he knew what was best for Harry. Sirius wasn't so sure about that.

_Ah, here_ , Sirius thought. Number 4, Privet Drive. The house was dull and neat, the little front garden meticulous, the grass cleanly mown. Sirius thought that maybe on his way out he'd dig up the flower beds.

Turning his head both ways, Sirius bounded into the backyard. No one was around; dusk had settled, and he figured most people had retired to their houses for the night. Now, what was the best way to get to Harry? He probably shouldn't go bouncing in, although that might be a good way to mess with the Dursleys. He paced around the back yard, which was just as tidy as the front, sniffing the grass as he thought about it.

Sirius perked his ears up. What was that? He circled closer to the house; he could hear the murmur of voices, and they sharpened as he drew nearer, his superior dog hearing able to pick up on noises he normally wouldn't have been able to.

"What was that, boy?" The voice was loud and rough. Sirius didn't like the sound of it at all.

"Nothing, sir," said Harry. Sirius could hear the bite of anger in his godson's voice.

"I think you're lying, boy. I heard you muttering under your breath. Why don't you spit it out?"

Tense silence.

"I swear," Sirius could hear the man getting up, the creak of the floorboards and the thump of footsteps, "That you had a problem with what I said to you about your chores."

"No problem," Harry spat out. "Only anyone with half a brain could see that I've been keeping up with them, but that's more your problem than m-"

"Take the trash out and go to your room. No meals."

The back door banged open suddenly, and Sirius saw Harry's silhouette illuminated against the doorframe before he shut the door behind him and stepped outside, dragging a bag of trash with him.

Sirius transformed back into a human, his feet hitting the grass with a soft woosh.

"Harry!"

Harry jumped, nearly dropping the bag of trash he was holding.

" _Sirius?_ "

Sirius quickly walked over to Harry.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, incredulous. He cast a nervous glance back at the Dursley house.

Sirius didn't answer. He grabbed Harry's chin gently. Harry flinched slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Sirius still noticed it. Turning his face toward the light, Sirius saw the red mark blossoming on his cheek, the fading black eye beneath his glasses, the healing split lip.

"I'm going to kill him," Sirius said, pulling his wand out of his sleeve. "I'm going to kill him."

"No," Harry said, grabbing his arm. "Don't go in there."

"They're hitting you. Merlin knows what else they're doing to you." Sirius could feel the anger rising in him, almost blotting out everything around him. He wanted to march in there and hex Dursley senseless.

"You can't do magic here, Sirius," Harry said, eying the way he was twirling his wand in his hand. "I'll get in trouble with the Ministry."

That was true. "I don't have to use magic," Sirius said, curling his hands into fists.

"Sirius!"

Sirius looked at his godson. Harry was watching him with genuine worry.

"Fine," Sirius said. "I won't do anything. Not right now," he added.

"Okay," Harry said. His face broke out in a grin. "It's good to see you, Sirius. But what are you doing here?" He added suddenly. "You're still being looked for the ministry! Anyone could've seen you!"

"Relax," Sirius said, grinning despite the situation. "Animagus, remember?"

Harry laughed. He opened his mouth, about to ask Sirius about where he was staying, but the door suddenly opened. Harry jumped.

"Hurry up, boy!" Aunt Petunia snapped. "Or you can spend the night out there!" She slammed the door behind her.

Sirius had already started toward the Dursley house, wand out. Harry grabbed his arm.

"Sirius," he said, "please. Just leave it. You'll make things worse for me."

"You think I'm leaving you here?" Sirius said.

"Are you saying-"

"You're coming with me. Let's go get your stuff."

Harry couldn't believe it. "But, Dumbledore-"

"Screw Dumbledore. Let's get you out of here."

Was this real? After stewing here all summer, fighting for any scrap of news he could get, his anger flaring up, his nightmares, dealing with his relatives-after all that, Sirius was really going to get him out of here? He'd hoped for this every summer, that he wouldn't have to stay at the Dursleys, that someone would come get him, and here Sirius was. He couldn't help the grin that bubbled up onto his face, despite the fact that his stinging cheek made it hurt to smile.

"Yeah, alright," Harry said. But how would he explain this to the Dursleys?

"I'll come in with you. Tell them you're leaving," Sirius said, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"I dunno…" Would that make things easier or harder? On the one hand, the Dursleys would be thrilled to have him gone far earlier than they could have expected; on the other, they wouldn't appreciate someone they believed to be a mass murderer, on top of being a wizard, bursting into their house and threatening them.

"No magic, okay?"

Sirius nodded. "I solemnly swear."

"Alright," Harry said. They walked into the house together, Sirius squeezing a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.

000

It didn't go well.

Harry had stepped into the bright lights of the Dursleys' kitchen, Sirius at his side, and Aunt Petunia had let out a horrified little scream before calling for Vernon. Sirius could feel Harry stiffen.

"Don't worry," he'd whispered, giving his shoulder another squeeze. That oaf wouldn't be hurting his godson again.

"What is the meaning of this?" Uncle Vernon had roared once he got to the kitchen.

"I'm Harry's godfather. I'm sure he's told you about me," Sirius said, flashing Vernon a smile.

"Get out of my house!" Uncle Vernon had sputtered after a few minutes of stunned silence.

"We'll be leaving shortly," Sirius said, pulling out his wand and twirly it idly in his fingers. "Harry just needs to get his things and we'll be on our way."

Uncle Vernon stared at the wand in Sirius' hands, his face quickly turning a dangerous shade of purple.

"Fine! Get the boy out of here, that's a favor to me," he finally snarled.

Sirius gestured for Harry to go upstairs. Uncle Vernon watched him go, but didn't follow him. Once Harry was upstairs, Sirius moved closer and trained his wand on Uncle Vernon.

"If you touch him again, Dursley, I'll kill you. That's a promise."

Uncle Vernon continued to sputter in rage, but didn't say anything. A few minutes later, Harry had rushed back downstairs, his trunk packed and Hedwig's cage under his arm. He looked between Sirius and Uncle Vernon, who were standing much closer to each other than they had been when he'd gone upstairs. He noticed Sirius' wand was out.

"Ready," he said.

"Let's go," Sirius said.

"Good riddance," Uncle Vernon muttered underneath his breath. Sirius reared around and punched him in the face, his fist connecting with a satisfying crack.

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia screamed, rushing over toward her husband.

Sirius pushed Harry out the door, quickly getting them out of there, leaving the shouts of the Dursleys behind.

000

"I can't believe you punched Uncle Vernon," Harry said. He was sitting in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius had brought out some butterbeer while he fixed some food. Harry sipped at it gratefully. The smells of food sizzling made his mouth water. As Sirius had guessed, he hadn't been eating too much lately.

"He had it coming," Sirius said. He brought a bowl over to Harry, filled to the brim with a heavy stew, and some thick slices of bread. Harry dug in immediately. Sirius watched him eat for a few minutes. He was so thin.

While Harry was eating, Sirius went upstairs, rummaging around in the bathroom for some basic first aid supplies; he wasn't too good at healing spells, but he thought he might have some bruise salve lying around. Once he found some, he headed back downstairs to find Harry slurping up the last of the soup.

"Want some more?"

"I'm too full. Thanks, though."

"Let's take a look at your face."

"I'm fine," Harry muttered, looking down.

"Harry. Look at me."

"I said I'm fine!" Harry snapped.

"You don't look so fine to me."

"I didn't ask you to come get me."

Sirius paused.

"I know. I just think some salve might be a good idea. Okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Do it for me, then."

Harry sighed, crossing his arms, but let Sirius come closer. He tilted his head up again.

"Quite a bruise you got here," Sirius commented, rubbing some salve on it. He could feel Harry stiffen.

"This happen a lot?"

"I said I was fine."

Sirius sighed.

"You know, I thought the same thing when I was your age. Turned out I wasn't so fine."

"What d'you mean?"

"I dealt with this same stuff. My parents weren't so great."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. A family full of dark wizards didn't take so kindly to my rebellious Gryffindor attitude."

Harry cracked a small smile.

"Things got so bad I ran away from home. Went to live with your dad."

" _Really?_ "

Sirius smiled. "Your grandparents welcomed me with open arms. Never looked back."

"Wow," Harry said softly. "That's great."

"It was," Sirius agreed, spreading some more salve over Harry's eye. "You have any other bruises?"

Harry looked away. Sirius took that as a yes.

"How about you take your shirt off and let me have a look," he suggested gently. Harry didn't say anything.

"I can tell you some stories about your dad and me. Make things go faster."

"Could you tell me about your family?" Harry asked suddenly.

Sirius smiled slightly. "It's not such a great story."

Harry shrugged. "I'd like to hear it anyway."

"Alright," Sirius said, picking up the tin of bruise salve. "Where to begin…"

A/N: Hello everyone! I got the idea for this story and it hasn't been leaving me alone, so I finally started writing it! This story will basically tell about Sirius' years at Hogwarts and life with his parents, while also dipping back into the present to focus on the Harry/Sirius bonding. I'll still be updating Reverberations, so don't worry! But I'd love to know what you all think about this, and if it's worth continuing:)

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sirius turned the tin of bruise salve over in his hands, his thoughts turning back towards things he hadn't thought about in years. He glanced back at Harry, who was looking at him curiously; the closed-off look he had worn when insisting he was fine had finally left his face, Sirius noted with relief. He wondered how much of his story he should tell the boy; most of it certainly wasn't pleasant, but it seemed like Harry was familiar with that concept. Sirius frowned slightly at that thought.

"I know you just got here," Sirius began finally, still turning the bruise salve over in his hands. "But I think you'll start to notice pretty quickly that this isn't such a great house."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"My parents were very...dark. There's no other way to put it. I...I'm not sure when I first started realizing it."

000

Sirius didn't remember much from the early days of his childhood; he supposed he had been happy, mostly ignorant to his surroundings. He had brief flashes of memories from his first years: his mother showing him the small bundle of his baby brother Regulus, Kreacher setting out a plate of food before him early one morning as his parents slept upstairs, his father leading a few dark-cloaked ministry officials into his study as his mother shooed him away. Besides these blurs and snapshots, one of his earliest memories occurred when he was about five or six.

Sirius was  _bored_. It was nearly midday, and he had done absolutely nothing the entire day. He couldn't even play with Regulus, who wasn't even that fun since he could barely do anything to begin with, but Sirius could at least pretend Regulus knew what was going on in their games, or, when he proved completely useless, use him as an audience for his exploits. Today, however, his mother had told him quite firmly that Regulus was to remain upstairs; he was sick with something, and he needed to rest. Hmpfh. Resting was not an option as far as Sirius was concerned, sick or not.

There was nothing to do in this stupid house, he thought. His mother had forbidden him from entering certain rooms in the house entirely, but as Sirius had already devoted several hours to trying to force entries to these rooms, he knew that wouldn't be a fruitful way to spend his time today. He sighed dramatically, flopping down on the drawing room floor. There was no one around, not even Kreacher, who Sirius was starting to view as quite an impediment to having any fun around here; the house elf had already told his mother on him several times, earning him a few sharp twists to the ears and several unpleasant spats of shouting from his mother. Kreacher also seemed to distrust him for some reason, watching him out of large, suspicious eyes, though Sirius wasn't sure what he had done to deserve this treatment.

Neither Kreacher nor his mother were anywhere to be found right now, though. Walburga Black had left the home about an hour ago, telling Kreacher that she was heading to Diagon Alley to look for some healing potion for Regulus that she had run out of; she had instructed the house elf to remain at Regulus's bedside, and to alert her at once if his condition seemed to worsen. She had told Sirius, meanwhile, that he was to remain in the drawing room and not cause anyone any trouble, or else.

Sirius had scowled and agreed, but now he was regretting his promise. Suddenly, he had an idea, a rather reckless one. Sitting up, he crept quietly toward the staircase and listened. There were no noises coming from upstairs, and Kreacher was nowhere to be seen; he must have been following his mother's instructions, locked up in that room with Regulus. Sirius glanced out the window at the front of the house, entertaining the thrilling idea that had come to him.

It was a beautiful, early summer's day. Sirius walked to the window, pressing his small face against it. The square outside the house was sunny and inviting, the calls of the neighborhood children drifting over to him. He could see a few boys bouncing a red ball between them, sometimes letting out great shouts of laughter as they did so.

A curious feeling welled up within Sirius as he watched the boys, something like longing, although he couldn't have explained it at the time. He wanted to be out there playing like the rest of them, feel the wind and the sun on his face, instead of sitting in this stuffy dark house. Sirius hadn't had many playmates besides Regulus. Once or twice, his parents' friends had brought their children over to the house, but Sirius had found them exceedingly dull. They never wanted to do anything fun, to participate in the elaborate adventures he had made up after long hours alone, but instead to just play with the expensive magical toys their parents bought for them.

Those boys outside didn't seem like that, though. They seemed fun.

The problem was, his mother had absolutely forbidden him from leaving the house without her. She had even warned him about staying away from those boys outside, although he hadn't really understood her explanation. Something about not mingling with the wrong type.

Another great shout of laughter reached him, and Sirius made up his mind. He was going out. Stealing another furtive glance over his shoulder, he pushed open the front door as quietly as he could and stepped outside, savoring the sunshine for a moment before crossing the street over toward the group of boys.

The boys stopped playing as soon as they noticed Sirius coming toward them, staring at him in confusion; it seemed like the boy had simply popped out thin air, or maybe another time period, what with his long hair and the odd robe-like clothing he was wearing.

"Er, who're you?" asked the oldest of the boys, after they had stared at Sirius in confusion for a minute.

"Sirius Black," Sirius responded promptly, sticking out his hand toward the boy who had spoken.

The boy stared at Sirius's outstretched hand in prolonged confusion before shaking it.

"Can I play?" Sirius asked brightly, ignoring the looks the boys were giving each other.

"Why are you dressed like that?" blurted a boy with bright red hair and freckles.

Sirius glanced down at his clothes, which he had never taken much notice of before, and realized how different they were from the simple shorts and t shirts the boys around him were wearing.

"Dunno," said Sirius, frowning slightly. "It's just what my mum buys."

"Are you rich?" asked another boy with dark, curly hair.

"Oh, yes," responded Sirius, whose mother constantly enumerated the riches of the Black family.

"Then why d'you wanna play with us?" replied the largest boy, drawing his blond eyebrows together in confusion. "Don't you have a ball to go to, or something?"

The other boys laughed, and a spark of anger flared within Sirius. "You're just afraid I'll be better than you!"

The boy grinned at this outburst. "All right, all right, you can play. But keep your dress on."

Over the next hour, the boys quickly realized that despite Sirius's odd clothes, he really was as good as he said he was; he always seemed to manage to catch the ball, even when it seemed like surely it was going too fast, or had slipped through his fingers. When they played kickball, his kicks soared out farther than any of theirs, or seemed to change direction just when it seemed someone would catch the ball he had kicked. It was downright weird, but it made for an interesting game. Soon the boys were laughing and joking with Sirius, who was happier than he could ever remember feeling.

It was too good to last.

About an hour and a half later, Walburga Black returned from her trip to Diagon Alley, laden with shopping bags containing the medicine for Regulus and some new robes she had eyed in Madam Malkin's. When she saw the group of boys playing in the square near her house she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the muggle filth. As her eyes swept over them, she nearly dropped her bags. That couldn't be- _Sirius?_ She closed her eyes for a second, but when she popped them back open, there was her son, mingling with muggles. She raised a hand to her mouth, horrified, before lowering it and screeching, "Sirius Black! You get over here right now!"

Sirius whipped around when he heard his mother's voice, the happiness quickly leaking out of him. His new friends stopped what they were doing as well, giving each other nervous looks; that voice did not sound pleasant.

"I've got to go," said Sirius gloomily, tossing the ball back toward another boy.

"Well, see you soon, mate?" one of them asked, although he sounded extremely uncertain. The boys watched him troop back across the street, shoulders slightly slumped, until he seemed to disappear from view.

"Weird," muttered one of the boys.

000

Sirius had never seen his mother so furious. Her face was contorted with rage, and her sharp nails dug into his shoulder as she pulled him back into the house with him. As soon as the door closed behind her, Walburga wheeled Sirius around so that he was staring up at her, watching apprehensively as she struggled to form words.

"How dare you?" she finally managed, glaring at Sirius with such revulsion that he took a small step back.

"I-" Sirius began, but before he could say anything his mother had slapped him in the face, hard enough to make his head turn. He was too shocked to even cry, but stared up at his mother with wide eyes. She had never hit him like that before.

"Kreacher!" she called, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head.

Kreacher popped at her side immediately. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Lock Sirius in that cupboard near the pantry. Make sure he cannot leave."

"Yes, Mistress," said Kreacher, suppressing a nasty smile. He grabbed Sirius's arm with surprising strength for an elf. Sirius struggled against this grip, but with no luck; Kreacher dragged him down toward the kitchen, wrenching open a small door near the pantry, which led into a small, dark space. He tossed Sirius into it with a nasty laugh then closed the door, extinguishing all light.

Sirius let out a small sob, drawing his knees together and wrapping his arms around them. Mysterious shapes glinted around him, which Sirius soon realized were pipes; they emitted unpleasant clanking noises. Sirius wasn't sure how long he stayed there, but it felt like hours; once or twice, he thought he heard the scurrying of a mouse, and drew his arms tighter about himself. His quiet sobs subsided after a while as he closed his eyes, willing his mother to let him out.

000

"Later that night, my father sat me down and explained things to me. He said my mother had perhaps been too harsh on me, as I didn't fully understand the situation, but that she had been afraid. He told me all about muggles, oh yes, how they were filthy scum unworthy of wiping the shoes of noble purebloods, and how I must never, ever, go near them again. Playing with them like that was degrading, was shameful, and I had deeply hurt my mother, blah blah blah," Sirius finished with a bitter smile.

"He said that to a six year old?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yep," said Sirius, with a short, barklike laugh. "That was my first painful lesson about the kind of wizards my parents were."

"And your mother locked you in a cupboard," Harry muttered quietly, an odd look on his face.

"I told you it wasn't pleasant," said Sirius grimly. "Are you sure you want to hear about it?"

"Things got better for you, didn't they? When you went to Hogwarts?"

Sirius smiled again, this time without bitterness. "They did. Much better. Meeting your dad, that was the beginning of all that."

"Really?" asked Harry, leaning closer to Sirius.

Sirius let out another barklike laugh, setting down the bruise salve for the moment, thinking back to his first meeting with James on the Hogwarts Express.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!

 


	3. Chapter 3

                Over the next five years, Sirius remained a bright and mischievous boy, despite his parents’ best efforts to impress upon him the importance of pureblood morals. Sirius heard the same arguments and ideologies repeated hundreds of times, both in his own home and in the homes of the other wealthy purebloods the Blacks socialized with. The most important things his parents believed, Sirius quickly learned, were that purebloods were better than almost anyone else in the world, and that those of lesser blood status were unfit to remain in the magical world; muggles, on the other hand, were considered inhuman, vile creatures. After a few glasses of wine, some of his more radical relatives expressed their opinions on things like muggle-hunting, calling for its reinstation, or declared that every mudblood’s wand should be snapped in half. Sirius noticed his parents nodding and smiling indulgently when topics like these came up.

                Sirius wasn’t sure what he thought about all this. It was hard for him to think about; most young children would accept their parents’ beliefs as law, but Sirius had already started clashing with them, even if it was just over small things like his fidgeting and prank-pulling. And those muggles he played with hadn’t been bad at all, though Sirius knew better than to voice this thought around his parents. He settled for ignoring the matter, zoning out whenever the adults talked about politics and focusing on more important things, like pranking his boring relatives and coming up with adventures to play with Regulus. It wasn’t like he ever had another chance to test his parents’ beliefs, either; after his slip up with the muggle neighbors, Sirius remained under his mother’s or Kreacher’s watchful eye at all times. Until he went to Hogwarts, he barely saw outside the walls of Grimmauld place, except when he accompanied his parents to pureblood parties or dinners, which were dreadfully boring.

                The night before Sirius was to leave for his first year at Hogwarts, his parents decided to throw him a party. All his horrible relatives were coming. The only bright spot was that his favorite uncle was also coming; Uncle Alphard barely ever talked about politics, and he was loads of fun, usually showing Sirius some delightful bits of magic and even occasionally helping him with his pranks. Sirius had noticed that his mother’s lips drew into a thin line whenever Uncle Alphard started on his jokes and spells; once, Uncle Alphard had even told Walburga off, saying that if she kept making that expression her face would get stuck like that. Sirius had beamed with delight at the memory for weeks.

                Now, Sirius stood before the long mirror in his room, tugging at the sleeves of the new dress robes his mother had insisted he wear. He was scowling at his reflection as his mother walked in.               

                “Stop that,” she snapped, moving to stand behind Sirius. She spun him around and eyed him up and down, smoothing down a wrinkle in his robes.                

                “You will behave tonight,” she began, dropping her hands from his robes, “in a manner befitting the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

                Sirius’s scowl deepened.

                “Wipe that look off your face. No pranks. No fidgeting at dinner,” she repeated firmly, lightly touching the wand she had stored in her sleeve. “Is that understood?”

                “Yes, mother,” Sirius said finally, deciding that now was not the time for a fight; after all, he only had to get through one more party before he was off to Hogwarts for the whole year. It would rather spoil things if he spent the whole dinner under a body-bind curse, as had happened several times before.

                “Good,” Walburga said, casting one last look at him before sweeping out of the room. Sirius unconsciously relaxed tugging at his sleeves once again.

000

                An hour later, Sirius stood in the entrance hall with his mother, greeting his relatives as they arrived. Sirius had resisted, but Walburga had been adamant; it was his party, and he was to make the proper impression. After everyone had finally arrived, Sirius was allowed to slip into his seat at the table, at which everyone was now finding their seats. Sirius had managed to switch around the placecards earlier so that he sat next to his favorite cousin Andromeda, and across from Uncle Alphard.

                “Don’t look so cheerful,” said a quiet choice in his ear. Grinning, Sirius turned to face Andromeda; her light brown hair was tucked behind her ears, her dark brown eyes dancing with delight at the sight of her favorite cousin. She was starting her seventh year at Hogwarts tomorrow, and although she was a Slytherin, she was better than both her sisters combined.

                “Hard not to,” Sirius responded quietly as Andromeda took her seat.

                “Any pranks planned for tonight?” she asked, the side of her mouth quirking into a lopsided grin. Sirius shook his head sadly.

                “Don’t want to risk it tonight.”

                “That’s too bad. Cissy couldn’t figure out how to get the blue out of her hair for weeks.” 

                “Going soft, are you boy?” Uncle Alphard had arrived, squeezing into his seat across from Sirius.

                “Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” said Sirius with a look of mock innocence. Alphard chucked appreciatively.

                “Don’t know what I’m talking about? Half the people at this table have gone home with rainbow colored hair or fireworks exploding in their robes because of you.”

                “Must have me confused with someone else,” said Sirius, feigning surprise this time. His uncle laughed again, picking up the solid silver goblet before him, which had magically filled with his favorite wine.

                Their quiet conversation was cut short, however, by the arrival of Sirius’s father. Orion Black had been out on one of his business meetings and had returned just in time for the dinner. He was tall, with the haughty good looks Sirius would soon grow into; his dark hair was starting to silver at the temples, but his steel gray eyes were exactly the same shade as Sirius’s. As he reached the table, he kissed his wife’s hand and sat down; the murmurs of conversation died down. Orion coughed slightly signifying that he was about to speak.

                “Thank you all for joining us tonight,” Orion said, smiling around the table, though his eyes remained cold. “We are here tonight to celebrate my son Sirius. Tomorrow he will accept his place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he will hone the magical skills the Blacks have passed down from generation to generation. He will make a fine Slytherin, no doubt.” The end of the speech was met with a polite smattering of applause, after which conversation gradually returned to its previous pace.

                Sirius sat through several heavy courses, wishing the whole time that the thing would end; while he liked talking to his uncle and cousin, he could not do so openly with so many of his relatives around, and was forced to engage in conversation with everyone who sat near him, stomaching several hours’ worth of pureblood rhetoric, along with detailed accounts of his relatives’ memories of Slytherin House. He nodded and attempted to smile at them, aware of his mother’s eyes on him.

                After dinner, he managed to slip outside onto a balcony amid the confusion of everyone rising from the table and heading into the sitting room. He leaned against the railing, gazing up at the stars twinkling overhead.

                “Making your escape?” Uncle Alphard had joined him, unheard by Sirius. He spun around to see his uncle leaning against the door. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them,” he added, crossing over and joining Sirius at the railing.

                “Nervous about starting Hogwarts?” Uncle Alphard asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

                “Uncle Alphard-“ Sirius began, suddenly nervous.

                “Yes, boy?” he responded mildly.

                “I’m not going to be in Slytherin,” the words tumbled out of his mouth. Sirius released a great breath after he said them, feeling like a small pressure had left his chest at the confession.

                “Ah,” Alphard said quietly. He was silent for a few more minutes, so that Sirius thought he didn’t want to discuss the subject. Then, “You’ll be making things difficult for yourself, you know.”

                “I know.”

                “You could adapt there. There’s bound to be a few decent people. I was sorted there myself.”

                Sirius shook his head. “I couldn’t. I can feel it.”

                Alphard regarded him for a while longer, peering down at him in the semi-darkness. Then he nodded. “I suppose I knew that.”

                “So you don’t—“ Sirius broke off, unsure what he was going to say.

                “I don’t,” said Uncle Alphard mildly. “Your parents will, though.”

                “I know.” Sirius blinked, staring back up at the stars instead of at his uncle.

                “I suppose you can’t help it, boy,” Uncle Alphard said finally. “But let’s get back to the party, before my sister skins both of us alive.”

000

                Once the party was over, after what felt like centuries to Sirius, he made his way back upstairs to his room. He reached the floor his room was on, but paused at the landing. Regulus’s room came before his. He crept over to the door and opened it quietly, peering in at the darkened room. Regulus was asleep, curled up beneath the ornate covers of his bed, his hair rumpled.

                Smiling slightly, Sirius crossed over to his brother’s bed and watched his chest rising and falling, a curious sensation twisting about in his stomach. He often fought with Regulus, and he resented the fact that his brother always took his parents side, and that he never wanted to do anything fun, but he was still his brother, and he wasn’t going to see him for _months_ after tomorrow.

                “Regulus,” he whispered, sitting down on the bed none too gently. Regulus’s opened his eyes slowly.

                “What time is it?” he said, yawning.

                “Shh, you prat, do you want Kreacher to come up here?” Sirius said, bouncing once on the bed for effect. Regulus eyed him warily.

                “What is it?” he whispered.

                Sirius shrugged. “Just wanted to say bye.”          

                “You’re not leaving until tomorrow.”

                “Yeah, well, I meant on my own. Without mother breathing down my neck.”

                “You shouldn’t speak that way about mother,” Regulus said automatically, though there was no real reproach in his voice.

                Sirius sighed dramatically. “What will you ever do without me?”

                “Have some peace and quiet, I suppose,” mumbled Regulus, turning his face back toward his pillow.

                “Alright, hint taken,” said Sirius, getting up. “Bye, Regs,” he said quietly, shutting the door behind him softly.

000

                The next morning, Sirius could barely contain his excitement; he was up at the crack of dawn, practically bouncing off the walls. It was only his mother’s threat of a full body-bind curse all the way to the train station that finally calmed him, although he was just as excited inside.

                His father had left before Sirius even woke, and was not there to see him off; Sirius brushed off this slight, too used to his father’s long hours. His mother, Regulus, and Kreacher were accompanying him, and were finally ready to depart after what seemed like a dreadfully long wait to Sirius. Walburga would be apparating with Regulus, while Kreacher apparated with Sirius and his luggage; Sirius bristled at the feel of the house elf’s long, cold fingers around his arm, but his discomfort was soon forgotten when he arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The gleaming scarlett steam engine stood belching smoke into a thick crowd, packed with young witches and wizards and their parents; owls hooted, cats would their way around people’s legs, and a giant clock stood ticking over the magically concealed barrier. Even Regulus could not stop his eyes from widening at the sights and sounds. Walburga, meanwhile, had drawn her cloak up near her face, and was gazing at their surroundings with extreme distaste. Sirius distinctly heard her mutter, “Packed with mudbloods.”

                “Kreacher,” she snapped. “Go and put Sirius’s trunk in an empty compartment.” Kreacher hurried away at once, magically levitating the trunk onto the train. He vanished from sight a moment later.

                “Well, this is goodbye Sirius,” Walburga said, giving him her customary once-over; she appeared satisfied at the state of his new, expensive robes, for she did not straighten or pluck at them. “Do be sure to make us proud,” she added, only a trace of a threat in her voice. Sirius was stunned when she gifted him with a short, stiff hug; he could not remember the last time his mother had hugged him. He only stared at her as Kreacher returned.

                “It is done, Mistress,” the elf croaked, bowing.

                “Very well. Goodbye, Sirius.” With that, she and Regulus left, Regulus muttering a quick goodbye before hurrying after his mother. Kreacher slunk after them. Sirius watched them until they disappeared, then, with a start, stepped onto the train to search for his compartment.

                _Typical Kreacher, not telling me where he put my things_ , Sirius thought, though he was so happy he couldn’t even muster up his usual malice toward the house elf. He was going to Hogwarts, he was free!

                After walking by several compartments, Sirius spotted his trunk. He had just sat down when the door slid open again, revealing a short, skinny boy with black hair that stuck up in every direction. Round glasses perched on his thin face, revealing bright hazel eyes beneath them.

                “Anyone sitting here? Nearly everywhere else is full.”

                “No,” said Sirius, smiling. “Go ahead.”

                James grinned in response and stowed his trunk overhead. Just as he sat down, the train gave a great lurch and starting pulling away from the station.

                “I’m James, by the way. James Potter,” the boy said. Sirius looked at him with interest; he had heard of the Potters, of course, seeing as they were an ancient pureblood family; they had a reputation for being blood traitors however, so they didn’t associate with people like Sirius’s family.

                “Sirius Black,” he said, leaning back against the seat and regarding James.

                “Black, huh?” asked James, looking at him curiously.

                “That a problem?”

                James flashed him another grin. “Only if you plan on being in Slytherin.”

                Sirius laughed. “No way.”

                “Cheers,” said James. “D’you collect chocolate frog cards?”

000

                Sirius paused, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face as he remembered sharing that compartment with James; they had whiled away the long journey toward Hogwarts discussing chocolate frog cards and Quidditch, things Sirius’s family had never approved of. James hadn’t even been bothered that he came from a family with such a dark reputation. They had instantly connected, and Sirius had had a warm feeling in his chest the whole journey at the realization that he had made his first real friend.

                “What happened next?” Harry asked eagerly. He had listened to Sirius’s story with perfect attention; at the mention of his father he had leaned in eagerly, slightly restless.

                “Well—“ Sirius started, then looked guiltily at the tin of bruise balm lying neglected on the table. “I’ll continue the story once you let me take a look at you,” he decided picking up the tin.

                “But—“ Harry bit his lip, looking put-off. Sirius felt slightly guilty; he realized how hungry Harry was for any details about his parents, but he needed to make sure he was okay first.

                “Alright,” said Harry miserably, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head with the air of someone ripping off a bandage.

                Sirius quickly swept his eyes over Harry’s back, looking for any major problems; there were a few bruises mottled here and there across his back, and two particularly nasty rings around his upper arms. Sirius gently applied the balm, starting with the darker bruises on his arm.

                “Your uncle?” he asked quietly, unable to contain the slight tremor of anger in his voice. Harry stiffened.

                “Yeah,” he muttered, looking thoroughly miserable. “Could you tell me more about my dad now?”

                Sirius nodded as he applied the balm.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think J


	4. Chapter 4

                “Firs’ years over here! This way!” Sirius looked toward the source of the noise, and saw a giant, bearded man standing at one end of the platform holding a lantern. He stood several feet taller than everyone else, his booming voice loud and clear over the scrambling of hundreds of students getting off the train.

                “That way, I reckon,” said James with a grin, and he and Sirius pushed through the crowd to get toward the man. They joined the small clump of nervous looking first years, most of whom stood in silence.

                After a few more minutes, the giant man counted the students before him.

                “Tha’ looks like everyone,” he said. A small boy standing near James and Sirius jumped at the booming voice; the two boys exchanged a grin.

                “Righ’,” the man continued. “Name’s Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. I’ll be takin’ yeh lot across the lake.”

                They followed Hagrid down a steep, gravelly path, shadowed on either side by thick trees. No one was speaking; everyone seemed stunned into silence. Even Sirius’s voice had deserted him, and his excitement from earlier was now tinged with a slight nervousness.

                They reached the bottom of the path, which had led them to a pebbly shore, against which dark water lapped. Boats stood near the water’s edge, magically tied in place, rocking slightly with the lapping of the water.

                “There’s yeh first glimpse of Hogwarts,” Hagrid said, pointing up toward the castle which loomed above them; Sirius’s mouth dropped open as he gazed at the giant castle, windows glowing warmly against the dark sky. It was dotted with turrets and towers, the stars peeking out between them. He glanced over at James, who was staring at the castle with equal astonishment. Even though both of them had grown up in the wizarding world, the sight of Hogwarts Castle was astonishing; nothing anyone had ever told them about the place could compare to actually seeing it.

                “No mor’n four to a boat,” Hagrid said, and the reverie that had come over the first years was broken. They scrambled into the boats, pulling up their robes so as not to touch the water.

                James and Sirius couldn’t find any empty boats, so they joined one that was occupied with two other boys. One of the boys was short and plump, with mousy blond hair and round blue eyes. The other was taller and thinner, and the distinct air of shabbiness clung around his frayed robes; he seemed friendly enough though, with his golden-brown hair and large greenish-brown eyes. He smiled politely at James and Sirius as they clambered into the boat. When everyone had settled down, Hagrid climbed into his own boat and tapped its side with a pink umbrella; Sirius barely had time to wonder how the boat was able to support Hagrid before they had set off, boats streaming silently against the water.

                “Look out for the giant squid,” James said to him. Sirius grinned back at him. The plump boy looked terrified, and leaned away from the edge of the boat; the other boy merely quirked a smile so small Sirius wasn’t sure he saw it.

                None of them spoke for the rest of the trip, except for the random gasp of amazement. The boats led them into a small underground cove. Once they had climbed out, Hagrid spoke again.  

                “Yeh’ll follow me up here,” he said, indicating a passageway in the rock. “Then it’ll be time for the sorting.”

                They followed Hagrid up the passageway, then emerged into the shadow of the castle. Hagrid raised a hand and knocked on the enormous wooden front door, which swung open at his touch. A tall, thin woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun was waiting for them, peering at them all over the edge of her glasses.

                “Thank you, Hagrid,” she said. “I’ll take them now.”

000

                Sirius had barely listened to the woman who called herself Professor McGonagall’s speech; he knew all about Hogwarts and about the houses already, of course. However, his nonchalant attitude changed when she led them into the Great Hall and he saw the sea of students there, the floating candles, and the enchanted sky; when he spotted the patched, frayed Sorting Hat sitting on a stool, his stomach gave a small lurch.  _This was it._

                Once the Sorting Hat had finished with its song, it went back to sitting silently on the stool. Sirius had barely registered the words. What would he do if the Hat tried to put him in Slytherin? And what if it didn’t?

                He barely had time to focus on these thoughts though, since the Sorting was in alphabetical order. He cursed his last name when he was soon called to come up, only the third person so far. Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat, and as he sat down she placed it on his head; it was so big that the brim fell down over his eyes, blocking out the sea of faces pointed at him.

                “Another Black, eh?” said a small, sly voice in his ear.

                _I’m not like them_ , Sirius thought, before he could help himself.

                “Not like them? And what do you mean by that?” the voice asked calmly. It didn’t speak for a few moments. Then, “Ah.”

                _Ah what?_

“I can see it all here…you’re different, that’s true.”

                _Told you,_ Sirius thought triumphantly.

                “But still,” the voice persisted, “you could do well in Slytherin…”

                _No_ , Sirius thought fiercely. _I’d rather leave_.

                “Would you now?” The voice sounded amused. “You’ve got a good mind here, sharp, though perhaps a bit too sharp for your own good…you’re loyal too, very loyal, oh yes. And there’s a good deal of bravery…”

                The voice lapsed off, and Sirius sat, with bated breath—

                “It’s very clear,” it said finally. “Better be GRYFFINDOR!”

                The last word was shouted out to the rest of the Great Hall. Sirius pulled the Hat off his head, heart beating fast with excitement, and handed it back to Professor McGonagall. He thought he might have seen her press her thin lips into what could have been considered a smile before he started moving toward the Gryffindor table. He was too excited to notice the way the Slytherins were staring at him, and he didn’t glance at the table, where people were exchanging whispers and pointed looks. The Gryffindors, after a few moments of silence, had let out a great roar of applause and cheering. He slid into an empty seat at the far end of the table, the first new student to have been sorted into Gryffindor.

                He watched the rest of the Sorting with interest, the great weight of nervousness finally gone; several girls joined the Gryffindor table, and they all sat together in a knot a few seats away from Sirius, who was glumly thinking that it was just his luck that only girls would be his new housemates. Finally, however, another boy joined him, one of the boys from the boat; Lupin, that was his name.

                “Is anyone sitting here?” he asked quietly, indicating the seat across from Sirius, who shook his head and grinned. The new boy slid into the seat and turned to watch the rest of the Sorting. Sirius missed the next few people as he watched the new boy, the way he brought his thin hands together to clap or ran them through his scruff of hair.

                Soon, the other boy from their boat had joined them, along with James; the hat had barely sat on his head for a few seconds before crying out that he was a Gryffindor, and Sirius had let out a wolf-whistle when he joined him at the table.

                “Idiot,” he said when he joined Sirius, though he smiled all the same.

                After that, no more boys were sorted into Gryffindor, though a few more girls were. The rest of the Sorting passed, ending with a boy named Wilkes being sorted into Slytherin, and the Headmaster rose to his feet.

Sirius had heard about Dumbledore from his relatives, though they had never said anything good about the man. This made Sirius all the more interested in hearing what he had to say, and he watched intently as the tall, thin wizard rose to his feet and threw out one of his star-spangled arms to address the students, tucking his long silver beard over his shoulder.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” Dumbledore said, voice clearly echoing across the Great Hall. “As I am sure you are all ravenous, let us forestall the announcements and dig in!”

On the last word, food magically sprang into existence all across the table. Sirius’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as he stared at the magnificent feast laid out before him: roast beef, puddings, great mounds of potatoes, golden tureens of butter and gravy…he didn’t know what he wanted to eat first. The plump boy from the boat was already reaching out, scooping mounds of food onto his golden plate; Sirius soon joined in, taking a little bit of everything he could reach. At his side, James was doing the same. The thin boy across from him was taking his time though, carefully and slowly scooping his food onto his plate.

“I’m Sirius Black, by the way,” he said, hoping to draw the boy’s attention.

“Peter Pettigrew,” the other boy answered immediately.

“James Potter,” James said to him with a grin.

“I’m Remus,” said the other boy shyly. “Remus Lupin.”

 _Remus Lupin,_ Sirius thought, _what an odd name_.

“Nice to meet you,” said James, immediately and easily assuming the role of leader. “Did you all know you’d be in Gryffindor?”

Peter shook his head. “No way,” he said, voice small and squeaky. “I thought for sure I’d be in Hufflepuff.”

Sirius snorted, but James said, “Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin.”

“Did you see the way the Slytherins reacted when you got sorted into Gryffindor?” Peter squeaked, his eyes round and wide.

“No,” said Sirius carelessly. “Didn’t look.”

“Peter’s right, they were whispering and glaring at you like mad,” James said, shoveling some broccoli into his mouth.

Sirius shrugged. “Why should I care?”

“You really don’t care? I’d be terrified if that many people were looking at me like that,” asked Peter.

“No,” Sirius scoffed, ignoring the flicker of fear that licked at his insides as he thought of what his parents were going to say to him. “I can’t wait to prank them.”

James’s eyes lit up. “That’ll be brilliant!” 

“Did you think you’d be in Gryffindor then?” asked Peter, staring at James and Sirius with open admiration.

“Course I did,” said James. “Just like my dad.” He mimed himself wielding an invisible sword, and a red-haired first year girl sitting a few seats down rolled her eyes at him.

“How about you?” Sirius asked Remus, who had been listening to the conversation but not participating much.

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Remus said. “I wasn’t even sure I was going to come—“ He broke off, looking embarrassed, and quickly put some food in his mouth.

“You weren’t sure you were going to come? Why?” asked Sirius.

“Are you muggle-born, then?” asked James.

“My mum’s a muggle,” said Remus. “She’s er--- she’s sick a lot, so I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to come to school in the first place.”

“Oh,” said Sirius.

“I’m sorry, mate,” said James, throwing a quelling look at Sirius. “But you’re here now! And you can help us prank the Slytherins.” Remus gave James a small, grateful smile, and mostly listened rather than talked for the rest of the conversation about the pranks they were planning to pull.

000

                Later that night, sitting on his new red and gold four poster bed, Sirius couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten. He, James, Remus, and Peter had spent the night trying different flavored beans from the box of Bertie Bott’s James had bought on the train. It was late now, and they had all changed into their pajamas (Remus slipping off into the bathroom to do so).  Sirius was lying in bed, sleepily staring at the canopy above him, replaying the day’s events over and over in his head. It was hard, just then, to worry about what his parents were going to do.

000

                “The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin too,” Harry blurted out, once Sirius had finished recounting the story of his sorting.

                “Really?” asked Sirius, raising an eyebrow. “There’s not a Slytherin bone in your body.”

                Harry smiled before continuing. “Yeah. I asked it to put me in Gryffindor.”

                “Like godfather like godson,” Sirius said, throwing back his head and letting out his barking laugh.

                “I was worried,” Harry continued on in a smaller voice. “What that meant about me, if it meant I was…bad. Especially second year, with the whole Chamber of Secrets thing and everyone thinking I was Slytherin’s heir.”

                “Harry,” said Sirius. He wasn’t laughing anymore. “There’s nothing bad about you. You’ve done more courageous things so far than most wizards do in their entire lives.”

                “Still,” Harry said quietly.

                “The hat said I would do well in Slytherin,” Sirius continued. “Do you think I’m bad?”

                “No! Of course not, that’s not—“

                But Sirius was smiling. “See? I came from a bad place, Harry. You did too, if in different ways. It didn’t turn us into Dark wizards. And besides, everyone has the potential for all the houses. But you chose Gryffindor.”

                “Dumbledore said something similar,” Harry said.

                “And Dumbledore’s a wise man. Usually, anyway.”

                Harry smiled. “So, did you get around to pranking those Slytherins?”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

               


	5. Chapter 5

Sirius glanced at the clock. It was getting late, especially for someone who looked like he’d gotten as little sleep as Harry did.

                “Maybe we should turn in,” Sirius suggested. As much as he wanted to continue talking to Harry, to fill him in on all the trouble he and James had gotten into during their first year at Hogwarts, his first responsibility was toward making sure his godson was well cared for. Sirius felt a twinge of regret at that; if this had been James, they would stay up all night laughing, probably sharing a bottle of firewhiskey…

                But Harry wasn’t James, and Sirius shook the thought from his head. It wouldn’t do to think like that, but it was late, and he was unearthing all those old memories, and—

                “I’m not tired,” Harry interrupted his thoughts. Sirius gave him an appraising glance; the bruises on his arms and face were starting to fade, but Harry looked thin and pale and exhausted.

                Sirius smiled. “I am. Belting your uncle really took it out of me.”

                Harry sighed, recognizing defeat.

                “C’mon. We can share a room upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

                Sirius led Harry upstairs, wincing as they passed some of the house’s more questionable decorations. When they walked by the curtained portrait of his mother, he pressed a finger to his lip and indicated that Harry should pass by with extra care. Harry threw a curious glance at the portrait but complied. His eyes widened as they passed the stuffed and mounted house elf heads on the first floor landing, but he didn’t say anything until they reached the door of the bedroom Sirius led them to.

                “I can see what you mean about this house,” said Harry.

                “Charming, isn’t it?” Sirius forced a rough laugh. He paused outside the bedroom door. “Look,” he finally said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry you have to see all this, it’s just that’s it’s safe—“

                “Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, cutting him off. “Anywhere is better than Privet Drive.”

                “Right,” Sirius said, looking into Harry’s thin face and feeling another surge of anger toward the Dursleys. “Well, here it is,” he said opening the door and stepping into the gloom.

                “Was this your bedroom?” Harry asked, joining Sirius in the room and peering around.

                “Oh, no,” Sirius said. “Just one of the guest bedrooms. I haven’t gotten around to decluttering all of the rooms, but this one’s safe, just had some puffskeins hiding in the closet.” He refrained from telling Harry that he had yet to venture up to his old room, worried that his mother might have put some curses or jinxes on it after he ran away from home.

                “Decluttering--?”

                “You have no idea how much stuff has been breeding in here since my parents died. Nor do I, for that matter,” Sirius said darkly.          

                “Er, right,” said Harry, glancing toward the dark corners of the room. Sirius noticed and raised his wand, lighting the lamp that sat on a nightstand between two beds. A blank portrait hung on the wall, but besides that there were no decorations.

                “I put some spare clothes in here,” Sirius said, crossing over to the closet. “I should have some pajamas for you here somewhe—ah,” he finished, pulling out some oversized pants and shirts. “Just some of my old things.”

                “Thanks,” said Harry.

                “There’s a bathroom next door,” Sirius said, standing with his hands in his pockets.

                “And nothing hiding in there?” Harry asked.

                Sirius smiled. “No, all good.”

000

                Sirius rolled over in his bed, feeling more relaxed than he had all summer. He rested comfortably in the drowsy land between sleep and consciousness, his dreams slowly filtering out of his mind. Which was a shame, since he had been having such a nice one, where he and James had been back at Hogwarts…

                He opened his eyes. He was nestled in the cool sheets and blankets of the bed in the spare bedroom, the room light around him. Stretching, he was just thinking that maybe he would take advantage of the fact that he had been able to actually sleep and maybe try to grab a few more hours’ worth, when he remembered last night’s events.

                Harry. Sirius turned over, expecting to see him, and was greeted with the sight of an empty bed, the sheets and blankets neatly smoothed back into place.

                He sat up immediately, feet hitting the floor with a thump, and called out, “Harry!”

                Sirius’s heart pounded in his chest as he went downstairs, calling out Harry’s name all the while.

                “Sirius?” The answering call was quieter, and it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Sirius followed the sound into the kitchen.

                “Harry!” Sirius panted, leaning against the counter. “You scared me.” There was slight reproach in his voice.

                “Oh,” said Harry, face reddening slightly. “Sorry.”

                “It’s okay,” said Sirius, rebuking himself for his reaction, for shouting, for criticizing Harry; the boy had only gone down into the kitchen, after all. “I overreacted,” he said, waving a hand and sitting down at the table. “All that time being on the run, I’m a little jumpy.” Which was true, especially so wherever Harry was concerned.

                “I was just making breakfast,” Harry said, raising the spatula in his hand and indicating the bacon sizzling away in the frying pan beneath him.

                “You didn’t have to do that,” Sirius said, touched. “Here, let me, you sit.”

                Ignoring Harry’s protests, Sirius took the spatula from him and gently pushed him into a chair at the kitchen table.

                “Sleep well?” he asked, turning over the eggs Harry had started scrambling.

                “Actually, yeah, it was great to get some sleep.”

                “I’m glad to—“

                A sharp, insistent knock interrupted Sirius. He froze for a moment, then threw down the spatula and warned Harry to stay put. He carefully crept upstairs, wand in his hand, and paused behind the front door. The knock came again, impatient.

                “Sirius! Open up, I know you’re in there!”

                Sirius relaxed automatically at the sound of the voice, stowing his wand back in his pocket and opening the front door.

                “Remus! What are you doing here, I thought you couldn’t come by til next week?”

                “Harry’s missing,” Remus said without preamble, stepping into the dusty hallway and shutting the door behind him. He turned to face Sirius, anxiety etched into every line of his prematurely aged face. “I was supposed to be on guard duty this morning, but he’s not there. I didn’t know what to do, I’ve come here first—“

                “You haven’t contacted Dumbledore yet, have you?”

                “No, no, I thought I’d do that afterwards—Why?” Remus asked, suddenly suspicious. He took a long look at Sirius. “What’ve you done?”

                “Now, look,” Sirius began, raising his hands at the fierce look Remus was giving him. “Harry is completely safe.” At Remus’s continued silence, he added, “They were hurting him, Moony.”

                Remus’s glare softened. “Hurting him?”

                “Yes, those filthy muggles were hitting him, starving him—“

                A very ugly look crossed Remus’s face before he asked “He’s here then?”

                Sirius nodded. “In the kitchen. I was just making breakfast, why don’t you join us?”

                “I’m supposed to—“

                “If there’s no Harry there to guard, you’re free, aren’t you?”

                “Oh, all right, just for a little bit.”

                Sirius grinned, grabbed Remus’s hand, and led him into the kitchen.

                “Look who I found,” Sirius said as he pushed Lupin into a seat across from Harry.

                “Professor Lupin!” Harry said, pleased.

                “Please, call me Remus. How are you doing, Harry?”

                “Loads better,” said Harry, and Sirius caught Remus’s eye and grinned in a See-I-Told-You-So type of way.

                “I heard,” he said, eying Sirius warily. “Don’t have any tea, do you, Sirius?”

                “Coming right up,” said Sirius, waving his wand. A mug set itself down on the table, and with another flick of his wand, water poured itself into the tea kettle and started boiling. “What’ll you have to drink, Harry?”

                “I already have some water,” Harry said, as Sirius made his way toward the table and scooped some eggs and bacon onto the plate before him.

                “Toast?” he asked as he did the same for Remus, and then added some to his own plate.

                “Sure, thanks.”

                Sirius flicked his wand again, and the now finished tea poured itself into two mugs, setting one down in front of Remus and the other in front of his own plate. He popped some toast into the toaster and took his seat.

                “So how is it?”

                “Great,” said Harry, swallowing a mouthful of food. Sirius beamed at him, then glanced over at Remus, who was looking at Harry with a quiet concern that Sirius knew well; his eyebrows were knitted together, his eyes following Harry as he shoveled the food into his mouth, no doubt noticing how thin and pale he looked. Remus didn’t comment, though his eyes trailed to the fading bruise around his eye and his look of concern deepened.

                “Very good,” Remus finally said. “Who knew Sirius Black could cook so well?”

                “Well, Harry helped me out.”

                “Ah, so that’s it,” said Remus, sipping his tea. “And what have you two been up to?”

                “I’ve been telling Harry all about the trouble we got up to at school.”

                The tension and worry momentarily left Remus’s face as he heard that, and he laughed easily. “Oh, no,” he said. “How far along are you? Did you tell him how you got detention your very first week? Thought it must be some kind of record.”

                “Haven’t gotten that far yet. We just finished with the story of my infamous sorting.”

                “Ah, yes, the black sheep of the Black family.”

                “Ha ha,” Sirius said, sipping at his tea. “And luckily for you, or else you would never have had the pleasure of knowing the fine gentleman before you.”

                Remus snorted.

                “Remus here was very tricky our first year at Hogwarts,” Sirius said, pointing at his friend with his cup of tea. “Had to drag him everywhere, he was always trying to slip off alone.”

                “Eleven year-old werewolves tend to do that,” Remus replied, sipping calmly at his tea.

                “True,” Sirius grinned.

                “Was it hard?” Harry asked, emerging from his food for the first time. “You know, hiding that from everyone?”

                An unreadable expression crossed across Remus’s face for a few seconds, but he quickly recovered.

                “It was hard, yes,” Remus said. “Made more so by the fact that I had such wonderful potential friends before me.”

                At Harry’s questioning look, Remus continued on. “My father had warned me, you see, of not getting too close to anyone lest they discover my secret. It was a gift to even be able to go to school—I could not afford to lose that.”

                Sirius watched Remus closely; he had rarely heard him express these thoughts.

                “Why don’t you tell Harry about our first year,” Sirius prodded. “Give me a break from the storytelling.”

A/N: A little break from the Marauders’ Era here, but I hope you all enjoyed the Sirius/Harry bonding! And I hope you enjoy the addition of Remus :)  As always thank you for reading and let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

                Remus sometimes wondered, in the long lonely stretches of time that made up his young life, what things would be like if it hadn’t happened. Would he be like other eleven year old boys, ones who went to school and had friends and whose parents looked at them with joy and pride, instead of worry and sorrow? Would he live in the same place, in a _home_ , play with his neighbors freely, wander around trees and creeks and backyards as familiar to him as his favorite, well-worn paperback?

                Remus wasn’t so sure. Even if it hadn’t happened, he doubted whether he could ever have been normal; he felt so different from everyone around him, sometimes, that he thought he may as well have come from another planet. Even from his parents, who had given up everything for him. He often wished they didn’t have to handle the burden of his condition, that there would be a way for him to leave them to live happy, full, productive lives, unhampered by a snarling werewolf. These thoughts came to him often, but especially in the quiet moments when his parents thought he wasn’t paying attention, like when he saw his father place a bracing hand on his mother’s shoulder and tell her that, somehow, they would get by in the newest town they were moving to, or the times he caught the expression on his father’s face when he collected him from the cellar the morning after the full moon. Remus carried the weight of his parents’ pain around with him, the feeling a dull ache that seemed to settle in his bones.

                Today, Remus was sitting outside, sheltered from view beneath a tall tree and some surrounding shrubs. He was holding a thick book, and he ran his fingers along its spine and pages, pausing before he opened it. It was one of his father’s books about magic, the ones his mother didn’t approve of his reading. She never forbid him from it, though—Remus had far too little joy in his life for her to deny him something he so clearly enjoyed. Still, her frown would deepen whenever she saw him reading one of Lyall’s spellbooks or books about magical creatures. Remus knew why his mother felt that way, and he knew she was only trying to shield from further pain. But Remus had learned from a young age that there was no way to do that, so now he opened the book and started reading, allowing himself to be swept up in the rush of words.

                Remus read for most of the morning. The hours passed by pleasantly, with a cool breeze ruffling the edges of his pages. Once or twice, Remus heard the echoing shouts of the neighborhood boys, no doubt playing some excellent game, but he firmly ignored the ache in his chest that these sounds brought about, and soon would be too deep into his book to remember. That was one of Remus’s favorite things about reading—it let him forget, for a few hours at least, that he was a werewolf.

                Reading spellbooks did not bother Remus nearly as much as his mother supposed it would; he knew that he would never be able to go to Hogwarts, so learning about magic this way was the next best thing, as far as he was concerned. Even though he couldn’t learn magic properly, Remus was glad that he knew it existed. His father did not do much magic around the house; as he told Remus, often with a sad smile, he had specialized in magical creatures and wasn’t the best at wandwork. Still, whenever he and Remus went on one of their long, winding walks through whatever neighborhood they had moved to that year, Remus could usually persuade him to show him a few spells. And sometimes, during evenings by the fire with his parents, Lyall would recount stories from his days at Hogwarts, or talk about saving his mother from the boggart that had first drawn them together, and even Hope would join in and laugh, loosening the tight lines of worry around her mouth and eyes.

                Remus had just reached the end of an interesting chapter about animal transfiguration when he heard the soft crunch of footsteps. Looking up, he saw a man who simply looked magical. There was no other way to put it: his hair was long and silver with a matching beard, he wore sweeping maroon robes, half-moon spectacles, and a rather crooked hat, and his blue eyes were twinkling down at Remus far too brightly to be natural.

                Remus was stunned into silence by the man’s arrival. He could not remember ever having a visitor come to their house, not to mention a wizard. Instinct kicked in; perhaps this was someone from the Ministry, someone who had discovered that he was a werewolf? Fear choked him.

                The wizard seemed to realize something of his fear, for he said, very calmly, “I do not wish to harm you, Remus. May I sit?”

                Remus, still too shocked to speak, could only nod. The man sat down beside him with surprising grace for someone so old.

                “A beautiful place you’ve chosen to sit,” said the man, gazing at the garden around him. Then he spotted the book in Remus’s lap. “Ah, transfiguration! Do you like the book?”

                “Yes, sir,” said Remus shyly, his fingers grazing the cover of the book. The man beamed at him.

                “It was my old subject, when I taught. I do say I still have a fondness for it.”

                When he taught? Could this man be from—no, that was impossible.

                “Do you like reading about other types of magic, Remus?”

                Remus wondered how the man knew his name, but did not ask. Instead, he answered him politely. “Yes, sir. I’ve read most of my father’s old textbooks, they’re very interesting.”

                “What are your favorite subjects?”

                “Oh, everything,” said Remus. “Well, except Potions. Those books aren’t very interesting to—“ He broke off, afraid that he might have offended the man, but he was now chuckling softly.

                “Indeed, indeed,” he said. “It seems you have a bright mind—and if I’m not mistaken, quite an aptitude for magic.”

                Remus’s heart leapt upwards; he was about to ask the man what he meant by that when his father’s voice echoed across the yard.

                “Remus! Who are you—“ His father stopped, gaping at the man who sat cross-legged beside Remus.

                “Lyall! A pleasure to see you again.”

                “Dumbledore? What on earth—“ His father stopped again, this time interrupted by his mother, who was running down from the house, concern etched onto her face.

                “Lyall?” she said, once she reached them. “Who is this? What’s going on?” She stared between Remus and the man called Dumbledore, still sitting in the grass, and her husband.

                Dumbledore stood up now, extending his hand promptly to Hope.

                “I do not believe I have had the pleasure to meet you yet. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

                The words hung in the air; Hope and Lyall exchanged looks, clearly unsure of what to say, while Remus, who had stood up by now, stayed completely still. Was it possible…?

                “I was just about to offer Remus a place at Hogwarts.”

                Remus looked at his parents; he did not dare get his hopes up. There was no way Dumbledore would have offered him a place if he knew Remus was a werewolf, and there was also no way he could go to school without someone figuring it out, or without hurting someone. They would just have to politely decline, tell the Headmaster that Remus would continue his homeschooling.

                “I don’t think that will be possible,” Lyall finally said, after a long pause. He didn’t look at Dumbledore, but turned his eyes toward his son. Remus tried his best not to look disappointed, to project a steady _I understand_ to his father.

                “Why not?” asked Dumbledore lightly. “I do believe Remus has a high aptitude for magic—am I mistaken?”

                Hope and Lyall exchanged another look. It was true that Remus had exhibited the spurts of accidental magic common to younger children, but they had always thought they would have to deal with it on their own, perhaps to have Lyall teach Remus the basics so he wouldn’t end up hurting himself or others.

                Dumbledore watched Remus’s parents for a moment, then spoke again.

                “I believe I know what you are worried about.”

                Remus tensed. Was this all a joke? Or maybe a ploy, to trick Remus into trusting Dumbledore, who would then whisk him off to the Ministry?

                “I see no reason why Remus’s lycanthropy should get in the way of his education. Especially when such a bright young mind is in question.”

                _He knew?_ This man knew he was a werewolf, and still he was standing here, speaking to him as if were normal, as if he deserved to learn magic?

                “Absolutely not.” It was Hope who had spoken, her mouth set into a firm line. She was eyeing Dumbledore warily.

                “Wait, Hope,” said Lyall, looking thoughtfully at Dumbledore. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

                “Wonderful!” Dumbledore beamed. “How about we go inside, and we can discuss the measures I have put in place for protection?”

                And so they followed Dumbledore back into their house, Remus trailing behind them, practically holding his breath.

000

                Remus had been allowed to listen to Dumbledore speak, about the Whomping Willow and Madam Pomfrey and days to make up missed homework. His parents had told Dumbledore they needed to think about it, and he had nodded politely, shaken Remus’s hand, and told them he was looking forward to their owl.

                His parents had told him they needed to have a private discussion, and he had trailed off to his bedroom, wondering if he should try to listen outside the door but deciding against it. It turned out it did not matter, since soon they started shouting, and he could hear them in his bedroom.  Remus’s stomach twisted into knots; his parents did not often fight, and the fact that they were fighting about him made him squirm with guilt. He picked at some loose threads at the end of his shirt and waited for them to stop, which they eventually did. They didn’t leave the kitchen though, and when Remus drifted off to sleep they were still in there.

000

                The next morning, Remus’s parents woke him up and told him they wanted to talk. Remus followed them to the kitchen, trying to keep his nerves at bay. His mother poured him a mug of his favorite tea and set it down in front of him.

                “Thanks,” he said, picking it up and warming his fingers around it.

                “What do you want for breakfast?”

                “Just toast, thanks.”

                Remus nibbled at the toast, willing his parents to speak. Finally, his father opened his mouth.

                “Your mother and I have decided,” he said, “that you should go to Hogwarts.”

                “Really?” Remus asked slowly, putting down his toast.

                “Really,” his father said, his smile wide and genuine. Remus glanced at his mother, and noticed right away that her expression was more strained. She gave him a thin smile, though, and he jumped off his chair and gave each of them a hug.

000

                For the rest of the summer, Remus read as much as he could about Hogwarts. He pored over his father’s textbooks, determined that he would show Dumbledore he was right to put his faith in him. After a visit to Diagon Alley with his father, Remus spent long hours looking at all his books, robes, potions ingredients, and most importantly, his wand. Everything but the wand and ingredients had been purchased secondhand, but Remus didn’t care; the fact that he even possessed these items at all was a gift beyond words.

                A few days before term started, Remus was once again shut up in his room, reading _Hogwarts, A History._ He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice his father come in his room at first.

                “Dad!” he said, starting. Lyall smiled and sat down on the edge of Remus’s bed.

                “Getting excited?” he asked. “You’ll do great at Hogwarts.”

                “Do you think so?” Remus asked quietly.

                “I know so,” he said, giving Remus’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

                “Thanks,” Remus said.

                “I wanted to come up here to talk to you about something.” Lyall paused. “I know it’s going to be a lot to ask of you. A lot has always been asked of you,” Lyall said, and he was no longer smiling; Remus could tell that the words pained him, and he felt the familiar ache for the pain he was causing his parents.

                “It’s okay,” Remus said, trying to reassure his father.

                “Going to Hogwarts is—is a big deal for you. You deserve it, I know that, but a lot of people might not see it that way. So I’m going to have to ask you not to get too close to anyone. In case they notice. It could be—it could be bad for you.”

                “I understand, Dad,” Remus said quietly, now giving his father’s hand a squeeze. 

                Lyall stood up, turning to hide his tears from his son.

000

                The journey to Hogwarts, where he sat in a compartment with a small, plump boy who seemed even more nervous than he was to be starting school, then the trip across the Black Lake, the Sorting, the first days of classes—all seemed to pass with dizzying rapidity. Remus loved the castle more than he could have imagined possible. He loved sleeping in his four poster bed, with the stars sparkling outside his window, loved his classes, which he was taking with other students for the first time in his life, loved sitting at his favorite desk in the library and spending hours reading over books, loved the rich food in the Great Hall, the way the portraits moved between frames, even loved making potions, though he was terrible at it.

                But he had a problem. Three very big problems, in the forms of James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black.

                His roommates were clever and mischievous, and had already managed to land themselves in detention. James and Sirius played pranks with abandon, mastered spells quickly, and seemed to be bundles of boundless energy. Peter was quieter, but he was always asking Remus to play gobstones or chess or to share some snacks with him. The most amazing thing of all, however, was the fact that they seemed to actually _like_ Remus. They often asked him for ideas about pranks, and seemed delighted when he came up with new ideas or pointed out the flaws in one of their plans. They borrowed his notes for class, sometimes returning them smeared with jam or crumbs, but Remus was never angry. They teased him for his quirks, but if anyone even looked at him the wrong way they were quick to stand up for him.

                In short, they were wonderful, the kind of friends Remus had spent his life wishing he could have.

                But he couldn’t.

                He had sworn so to his father, and now he was beginning to break that promise. Leaning against the wall in the bathroom, Remus swore to himself that he was going to put a stop to it, not let things progress any further. They could be acquaintances and dormmates, but that was it.

                Remus scooped some cold water in his hands and splashed it in his face. He looked at himself in the mirror: he was thin and pale and sweating. The full moon was approaching.

000

Remus paused in his story, taking a long gulp of tea. Sirius and Harry were both looking at him.

Sirius shook his head. “We wouldn’t have cared. Even then.” Remus’s story had brought up a  well of emotions, ones he hadn’t tapped in years. Sirius supposed he had started doing so himself yesterday, but there was something about hearing Remus tell the story of their first weeks at Hogwarts that was different. Remus, who had been so brave even at eleven years old, ready to condemn himself to a friendless life just so he could get an education. Remus who had been bearing burdens that no eleven year old should have to bear.

                “I know now that you wouldn’t,” Remus said. “But it was habit by that point.” He smiled at Sirius, but Sirius noticed it did not quite reach his eyes.

                Harry had listened to the story quietly.

                “I know what you mean,” he said, startling both Remus and Sirius. “It was kind of like that, living with the Dursleys. Except all the kids were afraid to be friends with me because of Dudley.” A small smile twisted Harry’s lips, not unlike the one Remus wore, and Sirius felt a rush of affection and a mixture of other emotions he couldn’t quite identify for both of them.

                Sirius watched Remus watching Harry, watched the familiar look of concern cross his face, this time tinged with sadness.

                “But things got better for both of us, I think.”

                “Due, for both of you, to the magnificence of one Sirius Black,” Sirius said, and the three of them couldn’t stop the laughter that followed.


	7. Chapter 7

                The first months at Hogwarts passed in a rush that Sirius wished would never end. He was happier than he’d ever been in his life, mostly thanks to his new friends.

                Sirius was amazed that he and James were actually two different people, they were so alike. They quickly developed a reputation as the biggest troublemakers in the first year, and personally, Sirius was hoping they could win the title out of all the students. They had landed themselves in detention on the very first day of class, when some Slytherins had tried insulting Sirius; James and Sirius had knotted all their shoelaces together with a quick spell, which sent them tumbling down a flight of stairs. McGonagall had hauled them off to her office and shouted at them for a half hour, giving them a week’s worth detention and telling them they were lucky nobody had gotten hurt. James and Sirius had tried to hitch on appropriate looks of shame when they left her office, but once they were out of her line of sight they grinned at each other.

                After that, they tried to be a little more subtle with their pranks, but it usually didn’t work out so well. Most weeks they had at least one day of detention.

                Remus and Peter were a bit more cautious about throwing themselves into pranks the way James and Sirius did, but they were still brilliant. Remus especially. Sirius was amazed at the way he could point out all the holes in their plans and offer solutions to them within minutes of hearing them, and how ingenious those solutions really were. He was also the only one among them who actually took notes in class, which were usually passed around between everyone before essays and exams. Remus would roll his eyes and groan, but would eventually give in with a small smile once they started telling him how brilliant he was.

                Peter was a bit harder for Sirius to figure out. He could tell that the boy worshipped James from the way his eyes widened every time he came up with a plan or a joke. It annoyed Sirius a little, but he wasn’t sure why. He mostly tried to ignore it and focus on the good things about Peter, like the way he helped them wriggle out of detentions (it seemed to be a special talent of his, and they had all agreed that he was the most innocent-looking among them), or that he always had sweets from home that he shared with everyone without complaint.

                Everything else at Hogwarts was amazing as well. Living without the constant shadow of his parents and Kreacher for the first time was exhilarating, and he felt himself relaxing in ways he never had before, softening around the edges a bit. There were so many new and strange and wonderful things to experience, without the looming fear of chastisement or scorn. He couldn’t believe how easy James was with his touch, snuggling up to him and throwing his thin brown arms around him and ruffling his hair and launching into him nearly every time he saw him. It was a drastic departure from the stiff, controlled House of Black, but Sirius soon found himself melting into it.

                He was also amazed to find himself being really listened to. Most of the time at home, he felt invisible, unless he was being punished or being paraded around as the heir of the Black family. But here, James considered all his plans very seriously, Remus looked at him with thoughtful concentration when he spoke, and Peter listened to his and James’s stories with bated breath. The warm, contented glow that suffused his chest when this had first happened still hadn’t gone away.

                And on top of all that, there was Hogwarts itself, with its changing stairs to race up and down and secret passages to hurtle through and the wide grounds to run across and the moving portraits and the buzz of hundreds of students moving around the castle. It was all exhilarating. Sirius soaked up the thrumming vibrancy as if were lying out in the sun. He felt so much more alive than he ever had in the dusty, gloomy hallways of the Ancient House of Black.

                It was easy enough to ignore his family. They had only sent him one letter so far; it was at the start of term, and the family owl had arrived at breakfast one day, bearing a thick envelope. It had flown off as soon as it had dropped it next to his plate. Sirius had picked it up, unable to stop himself from breaking the elegant seal on the back. It had been what he expected, but it still stung: harsh words about his sorting, the shame he had brought to the family, blah blah blah…

                Sirius had crumpled the letter up and shoved it into his bag. His friends had noticed, but they didn’t comment. Sirius was grateful for that, for the way they never tried to pry into things he didn’t want to talk about.  It made it easier to pretend he was normal, just like the rest of them.

000

                December arrived, blowing in angry sheets of sleet and cold drafts that swept through the entire castle. Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus were sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast, which was warm and filled with students and steaming hot breakfast. Twelve great Christmas trees stood around the Hall, decorated with strings of magical lights and baubles that glowed and floated in the air and fairies that flitted between the branches.

                “I was thinking he could try that hair color charm on Snivellus later,” Sirius said, taking a gulp of his warm pumpkin juice.

                “Let’s,” James said, grinning as he buttered his toast. “After Potions, he’s always so smug after that class.”

                Remus raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

                Then the woosh of wings filled the air, and owls were flying over them and swooping down. Sirius ignored this and continued eating his breakfast; he hadn’t received a letter since the first one. So when his family owl landed in front of him, Sirius could only stare it.

                James, Remus, and Peter were staring at it too. Sirius caught James and Remus exchanging a look and scowled as he quickly grabbed the letter. The owl took off without even taking a drink from any of their goblets. He tore it open and saw his mother’s elegant script.

                _Dear Sirius,_

_Despite the shame you have brought upon the family by your Sorting, your father and I still expect you home for Christmas. We will have a discussion about your behavior then._

_Mother_

                Sirius’s scowl deepened as he crumpled up the letter and thrust it into his bag.

                “Everything all right, mate?” asked James cautiously.

                “Fine,” Sirius said shortly. “Just my mother telling me to come home for Christmas.”

                “Oh,” said James. “Well, that’s not too bad, is it?”

                “Nope,” said Sirius, hoping his tone made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the matter any further. It seemed to work, because James didn’t say anything else. Sirius noticed that Remus was still looking at him and cast around for a change of subject.

                “Want to raid the kitchens tonight?” he finally asked. He and James had figured out how to get into the kitchens during the first month at school, and now they made weekly pilgrimages there. The house elves loved them, and always plied them with more food than they could carry. “I bet the house elves have loads of good Christmas stuff.”

                “Yeah!” James and Peter chimed in. Peter looked relieved that Sirius’s tension had dissipated.

                “I can’t,” Remus said when Sirius turned his gaze on him. “Going home tonight.”

                “Going home?” said Sirius. “But—the end of term’s in a week, why not just wait until then?

               

                                               

                Remus shrugged. “Mum wants to see me now.”

                Sirius eyed Remus carefully. Maybe it was because of his own letter from home, but Remus’s explanation struck him as odd. He knew that Remus’s mother was sick, and that he went home every month to visit her, but what reason could there possibly be for him going so close to the break? Was she perhaps even worse off than Remus led them to believe?

                “Is she doing okay?” Sirius asked.

                Remus shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.” Sirius noticed that he did not quite meet his eyes when he said this. “Anyway, I need to go. I left my Transfiguration book upstairs.” He slipped off the bench, gave a curt nod to them, and hurried away. Sirius watched him until he left.

                “Does he look a bit off to you?” he asked, turning back toward James and Peter.

                “Off? How?” asked Peter.

                Sirius shrugged. “I dunno…he just doesn’t look good, does he? He’s all pale and sweating and he seemed nervous.”

                “Maybe he’s worried about his mum,” Peter suggested.

                “Yeah, maybe,” Sirius said, though he met James’s worried eyes while Peter was finishing up his cereal.

000

                Sirius was worried about Remus the entire time he was home, and paid extra attention to him when he got back. He wondered, when he started noticing things, if they had been happening all this time and he had just not seen it. The thought made his stomach squirm with guilt, especially since Remus always seemed to notice everything about him, down to which pair of socks was his favorite.

                The most troubling thing of all was the fact that Remus seemed weaker, maybe even physically hurt. On the way out of Charms, Sirius noticed he was walking with a limp. Once they were back in the common room, Remus collapsed into an armchair in front of the fireplace with a look of relief on his face.

                “Are you feeling all right?” Sirius asked, sitting down with a thump in the chair next to him. Remus, who had been staring into the fire, started with a jump.

                “What?”

                “I asked if you were feeling all right.”

                “I’m fine, Sirius,” said Remus, his tone a bit sharper than the situation called for, Sirius thought.

                “It’s just,” Sirius began, watching Remus carefully, “I noticed you were limping.”

                “What? That’s—you’ve must’ve imagined it,” Remus said, and Sirius thought he seemed to hunch inwards slightly as if protecting himself. Sirius decided to let the matter drop.

                “Yeah, maybe.”

000

                Despite his concerns, Sirius didn’t have much to time to ponder over Remus’s odd behavior. He was worried, yes, but Remus seemed to go right back to his normal self after a few days, and Sirius had no choice but to let the matter drop since the holidays were looming over him.

                Every day in December seemed to zoom by faster and faster, and in no time at all Sirius found himself back on the Hogwarts Express with his friends. They had grabbed a compartment together and were playing a game of Exploding Snap, biting into chocolate frogs and fizzing whizbees as they did so. James had a small pile of chocolate frog cards at his side to add to his collection, Peters’ face was covered in sugar, and Remus was smiling easily. Everyone was having a good time, it seemed, except for Sirius. He was trying to keep the sour expression off his face, to join in and laugh with friends, but he wasn’t sure how well he was doing with that. He couldn’t stop thinking about how his family was going to receive him, the ugly look that would twist his mother’s face and the way Regulus probably wouldn’t even look at him.

                When James and Peter left to go hunt down the with the food trolley, Remus turned toward Sirius, who was staring out the window, slightly hunched over in his seat.

                “Sirius?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Is everything okay?” Remus asked, and his voice was so hesitant and worried that it almost brought Sirius actual pain.

                “It’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile back onto his face. “Just thinking about how I won’t see you lot for almost a month.”

                Remus smiled back. “I hope you’ll manage.”

                Then James and Peter were back, and they were laughing and throwing sweets everywhere, and Sirius tried to forget, just for one more hour, where he came from.

 

 

               

               

               


	8. Chapter 8

                Sirius gathered his things slowly once the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, hoping to delay the inevitable as much as he could. James was impatient with his slowness, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and peering out the window.

                “Would you hurry up?” He asked, for the tenth time. Peter hovered behind him, his things all ready as well.

                “You can go out,” Sirius said. “My stuff got all moved around.”

                James nodded, not in the mood to delay. “See you after the holiday, then,” he said with a grin, and then he was out the door, Peter hurrying along in his wake.

                “Why don’t you go with them?” Sirius grumbled, shoving things into his trunk with a little more force than necessary.

                “I think some of my stuff got moved around too,” said Remus, peering into his trunk. “Better sort it out.”

                Sirius knew that nothing had gotten moved around in Remus’s trunk, since he was lying about his things in the first place, but he appreciated the gesture.

                “You can go, Remus,” Sirius said. “Your mum’s ill, you shouldn’t keep your family waiting.” As much as he appreciated Remus staying with him, he knew he was only doing it to be nice, and suddenly he desperately wanted to cling to the last few moments of peace he was going to have. Even his concerns about Remus’s recent injuries had left him.

                “Well,” Remus said slowly, his eyes darting toward the window, then back at Sirius, his brow creasing just a bit. “Okay. Have a good holiday, Sirius. Write, will you?” He placed a brief, comforting hand on Sirius’s shoulder before giving him a quick smile and leaving the compartment. Sirius watched him go, a heavy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach.

                Finally, when the last people were leaving the train and he could delay no further, he took a breath and pulled his trunk along behind him out into the corridor.

                He had half-hoped that his mother would’ve just sent Kreacher to fetch him, but there she was, standing to her full, impressive height with a scowl on her face. Sirius felt as though his feet had frozen to the steps, and he considered the possibility of just staying on the train as it went back to Hogwarts.

                But then his mother spotted him, and he set his shoulders in a determined square and went down to meet her. Regulus was throwing quick glances at him every few minutes, as if Sirius were contagious with something he could get just by looking at him.

                “Sirius,” she said when he reached her, her lip curling up in a sneer. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Sirius supposed it was to keep up appearances, but he could feel her fingers digging into him, cold and hard as steel, guiding him through the station. He suppressed a shudder.

                Kreacher followed along behind them dragging Sirius’s trunk as they left the station, Walburga throwing cold smiles and waves at some of her fellow purebloods, completely ignoring everyone else. Once they had reached the outside, she grabbed Regulus’s arm and apparated. Sirius repressed another shudder as Kreacher’s long fingers wrapped around his arm.

000

                Sirius was lying on his bed, staring at the wall. As soon as they’d gotten inside the house, his mother had ordered him to his room without looking at him. She’d said his father would have a talk with him later. Sirius couldn’t even muster up the energy to be nervous.

                He must have drifted off into sleep staring at the wall like that, because when the knocking at the door woke him up it was much darker. He rubbed his eyes and got up, opening the door to Regulus’s anxious face.

                “Father’s in his study,” he said. “He wants to see you.”

                Sirius couldn’t say anything. He closed the door and went downstairs, the nervousness he had been too tired to feel earlier now kicking around in his stomach. What would his father say to him? Do to him? He was never the one who punished them, only their mother or Kreacher…what horrible wave of curses and hexes was about to be cast upon him for daring to be sorted into Gryffindor?

                Sirius had always felt happy and confident with his sorting, even when the Slytherins threw jinxes at him or hissed insults in the halls. Now, however, he felt his first real stab of regret, deep and jolting.

                He lingered outside the dark paneled door of his father’s study for a few seconds, before the deep voice called, “Come in.”

                As he pushed open the door with almost numb fingers, he wondered if Gryffindor had been the right choice for him after all.

000

                Lying in bed hours later, Sirius still felt distinctly confused and wrong-footed by the entire affair. He had gone in expecting the worst and had come out with…well, what had he come out with?

                When he had pushed open the door, his father had been sitting at one of his dark dragon-skin chairs, a glass of aged firewhiskey in his hands.

                “Sit, sit,” he had said, gesturing toward the seat across from him with a whiskey-clad hand.

                Sirius sat on the edge of the seat, doing his absolute best to look unconcerned. It was hard though, with his father’s dark eyes gazing so coolly at him.

                “Have a drink,” he said finally, holding out his glass toward him.

                “Have—what?” Sirius said.

                “Have a drink,” Orion said, more firmly but with a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

                Before Sirius could respond, Orion had shoved his glass into his hand. He peered at the amber liquid swirling around inside it, then back at his father’s amused face, and took a gulp. He swallowed about half of it down, sputtering up the rest with a coughing fit. His father’s smile widened.

                “Not bad,” he said, taking back the glass and refilling it with a flick of his wand.

                “Why did you give me that,” Sirius coughed again, eyeing his father’s wand, “sir?”

                Orion leaned back in his chair. “Well, Sirius,” he said, taking a sip, “You’ve started Hogwarts. That means you’re becoming a man, doesn’t it?”

                Sirius nodded.

                “And men get firewhiskey.” He laughed then, cold and hard. Sirius noticed it didn’t reach his eyes.

                “Speaking of Hogwarts,” Orion began, and Sirius felt his stomach clench. “This little Gryffindor mishap is unfortunate.”

                Sirius tried not to squirm under his gaze.

                “However, I see no reason why it should be…insurmountable.”

                He swirled his drink around, apparently deep in thought.

                “You’ve always been a bit too…fiery for Slytherin, I suppose. I’d hoped you’d grow out of that, of course, but now that we’re here…”

                He sighed, taking another drink, then fixed his cold gaze back on Sirius. “Your mother is very disappointed. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Her eldest son, in Gryffindor…” He shook his head. “I’ve talked her down out of most of her anger, though, and she’s willing to welcome you back.”

                Sirius privately thought that was stretching the truth a bit, but he didn’t comment.

                “There’s no reason for any hasty decisions, as long as you do your part. You are the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, after all. Isn’t that right?”

                Sirius struggled to find his voice. “Yes, sir.”

                “Good, good. I’m glad you understand.” His wolfish smile glinted again. “Now,” he began, tone suddenly businesslike, “that means you’ll have to behave.”

                “Cut back on all these silly pranks. If I hear you’ve been bothering Slytherins again I’ll have to punish you, and we don’t want that, do we?” Sirius shook his head. “But if I hear you’ve been pranking some muggleborns, well—I might be persuaded to let that slide.” Orion’s leer deepened in what he apparently thought was good-natured leniency. Sirius tried not to grimace.

                “As for when you’re here, you’ll do as your mother says. Dress well, speak politely to your relatives, and behave. You’ll not respond to any teasing you may get about being in Gryffindor. Understood?”

                “Yes, sir.”

                “And when your time comes to your duty to the House of Black, you will do so.”

                Sirius wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but he nodded.

                “Very well.” Orion said finally, once he had finished gazing at Sirius. “I’m glad we got that sorted out.” He toyed with his firewhiskey some more. “Maybe it can even be beneficial,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sirius. “Having some eyes and ears in the enemy camp could be useful, after all.”

                Sirius could not resist squirming at this. Orion’s gaze flickered back over him.

                “You may go, Sirius. See you at dinner.”

                “Yes, sir,” Sirius said, and left the study as quickly as he could without running.

000

                Dinner had been easier than Sirius expected. As his father had said, his mother was acting a bit less icy to Sirius, even referring to him by name without sneering a few times. Regulus looked amazed that Sirius had emerged from Orion’s study with no injuries, and kept shooting wide-eyed glances at him. For his part, Orion kept up a steady stream of self-congratulatory talk, speaking of his latest business deals and social activity. All in all, Sirius felt he had escaped relatively unscathed.

                But now, lying in the dark, Sirius couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling that filled him. His conversation with his father had definitely been littered with threats, that much was clear to him. But at least he wasn’t being punished, or disowned, or any other horrible thing that could’ve happened…

                But what was all that about “doing his duty” when the time came? What would that mean?

                Sirius tossed and turned, unable to shake the disquieting thoughts. He finally drifted off to sleep with the comforting thought that at least Orion hadn’t mentioned his friends at all. They were safe, at least for now.

000

                Every hour, every minute of break seemed to crawl by. Sirius was bored out of his mind, with nothing but the dusty, gloomy hallways to keep him company. He wasn’t going to risk sending any letters to his friends, and Regulus seemed too nervous to stay in the same room with him for long. Which left him with nothing but his textbooks to occupy his time, and even he wasn’t that desperate yet.

                He suffered through several of his mother’s parties, stuffed into uncomfortable dress robes and forced to hear all the barbed comments about his sorting. As his father had instructed him, though, he kept his mouth shut, never snapping back, no matter how much he wanted to wipe that dumb smirk from Narcissa’s face.

                The only solace was seeing his Uncle Alphard, who had clapped him on the back and pressed a present into his hands when his mother wasn’t looking, offering him a conspiratorial wink before mingling back with the other guests.

                That evening, Sirius unwrapped the thin silver paper around the gift. A Gryffindor scarf tumbled out, warm and thick and golden. Tears sprang to his eyes automatically, and he blinked them away as he carefully tucked the scarf in his trunk underneath his robes.

000

                Finally, Sirius’s last night arrived. He suffered through dinner (though thankfully it was only their family, not a big party) and escaped to his room. All his things were packed, and he was bursting to leave. He couldn’t wait to get back to Hogwarts, but most of all he couldn’t wait to see his friends; it had been a long, difficult month.

                There was just one thing he wanted to do before he left.

                Carefully, Sirius crept out into the landing, pausing to make sure no one was moving around. The house seemed quiet, so he set off down the hall. He reached his destination and pushed open the door.

                Regulus was curled up in his blankets, his hair sticking up all over the place. Sirius felt his resentment toward his brother melt away as he saw him like that. He sat down on the edge of his bed.

                “Sirius?” Regulus muttered, rolling over to face him, voice and eyes blurred by sleep.

                “Yeah,” he whispered.

                Neither boy said anything for a while. Sirius thought Regulus might have fallen back to sleep, but he didn’t know how to say the things he wanted to say to his brother. They were beyond the scope of anything an eleven year old could put into words.

                “Sirius?” Regulus asked sleepily, some time later.

                “Yeah?”

                “I’ll miss you.”

                Sirius laughed shakily. “I’ll be back soon, you prat. And then you’ll be at Hogwarts.”

                “But I won’t be in Gryffindor.”

                “You never know.”         

                Regulus snorted softly.

                “G’night,” Sirius said quietly, getting up and padding toward the door. He wasn’t sure why he felt so much sadder than he had just a few minutes ago.

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

                Harry leaned back in his chair, taking another sip from his butterbeer, which added to the soft contented glow warming his stomach. The morning had passed so quickly, the stories of Remus and Sirius’s first year tumbling out of their mouths. Harry couldn’t stop himself from grinning at most of them, the ways Sirius and James (and sometimes Remus) got themselves into trouble.

            There were the endless pranks played on Severus Snape (while Remus looked slightly guilty whenever these were recounted, Harry didn’t mind much); James and Sirius sneaking off to the Quidditch Pitch at night to fly around, showing up to class in the morning exhausted but cheerful; the way Remus was the only one who took notes in class, and was brilliant at everything except Potions, in which James and Sirius would take turns fixing his brews when he wasn’t looking (a mild exclamation from Remus here); the fact that Sirius would try to charm Professor McGonagall whenever she caught them making trouble, and the fact that it never worked; the time Remus had felt so badly about transfiguring a poor beetle into a button that he had tucked it into his pocket and pretended it had escaped.

            These were the things Harry craved, craved to learn so badly that it almost physically hurt. He had spent countless hours imagining these types of things, and he carefully stored every memory away, for consideration later. He was reminded of his younger self, sitting in front of the Mirror of Erised, drinking in the images of the family he might have known.

            But beneath all this, beneath the happiness burning away inside him, were the undertones of fear and pain and anger that both Remus and Sirius had lived with. He felt something fierce well up within him whenever they said these things, when Sirius spoke about his family, hands clenching into fists in his lap, or Remus talked about hiding his transformations from his friends, unable to stop the loneliness from creeping into his voice--  something almost like protectiveness, mixed with an empathy so sharp it stung.

            It was past midday when they had finished recounting their first year, both of them jumping in and adding more stories the entire time. They had all finished a round of laughing—Sirius and James hadn’t studied for their exams, but both of them had earned top marks, much to the annoyance of Remus, who had spent the entire weekend shut up in the library surrounded by books. But now the threat of summer vacation stretched out before them, and they all felt the slightly somber chill at the thought that Sirius now faced the entire summer at the gloomy house they all sat in now.

            “More drinks?” Sirius said, breaking the silence that they had all settled in without noticing.

            “I’ll help you,” Harry offered, but Sirius told him to stay put and headed off into the kitchen. Harry noticed Remus follow him. He knew they would be talking about him, and the thought further dampened his mood.

            He couldn’t ignore it forever, he supposed. As much fun as he had had today, as satisfying as it had been to learn more about his father and Sirius and Remus, there was the fact of the Dursleys looming over him, of the fact that no matter what Sirius said, Dumbledore would make him go back.

            ***

            Sirius heard Remus stepping up behind him.  He turned, bottle of butterbeer in hand. He waited for Remus to speak, but he didn’t say anything, instead his eyes surveying the kitchen with a gleam of dislike.

            “Forgot how much I hate this place,” he said.

            “I haven’t.”

            Remus smiled slightly, one corner of his mouth twisting up a bit. Sirius watched his finger drumming against the countertop.

            “What are we going to do?”

            “He can’t go back there, Remus,” Sirius said, running his hands through his hair.

            “I know,” Remus said. “He looks awful.” He paused. “But can’t we explain this all to Dumbledore? He wouldn’t make him go back if he knew—“

            “Why _doesn’t_ he know, Remus?” His voice was harsher than he had intended, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from coloring his tone. “He’s bloody _Dumbledore_ , and he has no idea that Harry’s getting knocked around in his own home?”

            “You don’t think he kn—“

            “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” He felt the familiar anger pumping through his veins, and he longed to reach out, to slam a fist into the wall, to do something to stop the way he was feeling.

            “I should’ve known,” he spat out, anger at himself now mixing with his anger at Dumbledore. “I’m his bloody godfather, I’ve heard him say how much he hates the place—“

            “I should’ve known, too,” Remus said quietly, looking down at his hands. “We all should’ve—watched more carefully.”

            “Except we thought Dumbledore was watching for us,” Sirius muttered, hands clenching into fists. “I still don’t—I won’t let him make Harry go back.”

            “No,” Remus said softly. “I won’t either.” He paused. “But we still need to tell him. Someone’s going to notice he’s not at the house. Soon.”

            “Who’s watching him tomorrow?”

            “I’m supposed to.”

            “Why? You were just watching today.”

            Remus was quiet. “I’m not very useful a lot of the time. I need to help when I can.”

            “Remus—“                                                                                        

            But Remus shook his head, the tight look crossing his face that Sirius knew meant he didn’t want to discuss it, at least not then.

            “Can we wait another day to decide, then?”

            Remus looked at Sirius.

            “Okay.”

***

            Harry watched them come back in, noticed the tension in both of their shoulders. He had heard Sirius raise his voice, words muffled but the noise still there. He hated the feeling that they had been arguing about him, that he had ruined the nice time they had been having.

            Harry took the butterbeer they passed him, sipped at it, then set it down.

            “So,” he began. He cleared his throat. “Someone’s going to notice I’m missing, aren’t they?”

            Remus and Sirius exchanged looks.

            “Well, I’m actually the one who’s supposed to be watching you tomorrow. We thought—it might be nice to wait until then to figure out what we want to do.”

            Harry relaxed slightly, though the dull ache of dread didn’t go away completely.

            “Okay,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. He threw a glance of Sirius, noticed the dark look in his eye, and looked away again.

            “So,” Remus began. “Want to hear about our second year?”

            And Harry nodded.

***

            Remus knew his friends were noticing.

            He was thinking this more and more often. He noticed the looks James and Sirius exchanged whenever he mentioned going to visit his mother, noticed Sirius watching him for signs of a limp and asking him why he had scratches or bruises, noticed that even Peter had started giving him funny looks.

            He didn’t know what to do. He felt panicked all the time. Even when things were fine, when he was just sitting in the Common Room with his friends, the panic wouldn’t go away. He would look at their faces, bent over their homework and illuminated by the fire, and imagine their friendship being snatched away from him. He almost wished he had listened to his father’s advice that he keep his distance from people.

            He did begin keeping his distance, in small ways at first, and then in full-out avoidance. He just couldn’t think of what else to do. The thought of telling them the truth was too much—he knew the sight of the disgust and revulsion and anger that would cross their faces would be too much for him to bear.

            So he started going to the library, just once or twice a week at first and then eventually every night. He’d slip off right after dinner and stay there until closing, sometimes nodding off over the tops of his books, waking up in a cold sweat to Madam Pince’s sour voice.

            He missed his friends terribly. He missed the way James and Sirius would tease each other, the ways they would come up with the stupidest pranks imaginable and try to sweet talk Professor McGonagall and the way she would just assign them detention, but was trying not to smile too. He missed long nights in front of the fire, when they would usually have to help Peter with his homework but none of them really minded. He missed the way Sirius would leave him pieces of chocolate in his bedside table and the way he would tease him for wearing mismatched socks.

            And he would consider going back, of just telling them the truth, but that never lasted long. He knew what it meant to be what he was. So he just stayed in his corner of the library, trying to still his panic with books and homework.

***

            Remus was sitting at his usual table when he heard the scrape of the chair across from him.

            “Mind if I sit here?”

            It was Lily Evans, a stack of books in her arms. She looked pale, worrying her lip between her teeth.

            “Go ahead,” said Remus, moving aside some of his things. She gave him a small smile and set her books down.

            “Are you alright?” He asked her.

            “Yeah,” she said. “I just—Sev keeps getting mad at me.” She sniffled.

            “I’m sorry,” Remus said. He wished he could help her.

            “Thanks,” she said, and smiled at him again.

            They didn’t talk much, mostly working on their homework in silence. After that she would join him sometimes, and Remus felt a little less alone. He hoped Lily felt the same way.

***

            “This is getting out of hand,” Sirius said. He was sitting with James in their bedroom; Peter was downstairs in the Common Room finishing up some homework with Frank Longbottom.

            “I know,” James said, tossing up an old golf ball into the air and catching it. “But he runs off every time I try to talk to him.”

             Sirius sighed. “Me too.”

            They regarded each other glumly.

            “We have to tell him we know.”

            “Do we?”  

            “Yes,” said James, tossing the golf ball up again.

            “It doesn’t matter,” Sirius said.

            “I know that. We have to make sure he does.”

            “You’re right.” Sirius paused. “If we can get him to stay in the same room with us for longer than two minutes.”

            They had worked it out a few weeks ago. They’d been thinking it for longer than that, of course, but it somehow seemed too serious a thing to think without solid proof.  Then they’d started keeping track of the days he visited his mother, and they’d checked out books from the library (sneaking into the restricted section for some of them), and the conclusion had pooled in their minds, sticky and certain.

            It had been a hard thing to think about, but of course it didn’t change anything. Remus was still Remus. It hurt Sirius to think of him dealing with all that on his own. From what he’d read, it seemed awful.

            “We should probably tell Peter at some point, too,” James said, breaking their silence.

            Sirius snorted. “Let him work it out himself.”

            They lapsed back into silence.

***

            Remus rummaged through his bag—it wasn’t there. He’d have to go back to the room. He sighed, then began shoving his things back into his bag. He’d have to be quick; he knew James and Sirius usually went down to the Quidditch pitch on Thursday nights, but there was always the off-chance Peter might have stayed behind instead of deciding to watch them.

            He crept upstairs, peeking inside their room to make sure the coast was clear. He grabbed his Potions book and was on his way out when he spotted it, poking out from underneath Sirius’s bed.

            _Recognizing Werewolves._

It felt like the room was spinning. He felt his Potions book slide out of his hands and hit the floor.

            His legs seemed to cross the room of their own accord. Hands shaking, he picked up the werewolf book. It was huge, ancient, bound in thick leather; he was sure it was full of hate, of vicious insults about what a monster he was. He wanted to fling it across the room, but it felt glued to his hands.

            He didn’t know how long he sat like that, frozen on the floor with the book in his hands. He only knew that someone was kneeling next to him, tugging the book out of his hands and leading him over to his bed.

            “Remus.”

            It was Sirius.

            “Remus, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter to us.”

            The words came to him as if from far away. He tried to answer but the words felt stuck in his throat. He focused on Sirius’s hand, rubbing smooth circles into his back.

            And eventually he unstuck himself, and his worries poured from his mouth, and he twisted his hands in his lap. But Sirius was uncharacteristically calm, and he answered all Remus’s worries, and he was oddly gentle, and soon they were joined by James and Peter (who was confused, but handled things surprisingly well).

            And eventually they were laughing again, and passing around a box of Every Flavor Beans, and Sirius produced a chocolate frog for Remus.


End file.
